


Take This And Everything Changes

by EndlessGloaming



Category: Stormlight Archive - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Kaladin always saves Bridge Four, Kaladin takes the Shardblade, Not Canon Compliant, What-If
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 07:34:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23467711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EndlessGloaming/pseuds/EndlessGloaming
Summary: Kaladin saw death when he looked at that Blade, but could he turn it down? However much he didn't like the thing, if he had it, he could keep this Blade from killing carelessly.It was more than that, though. Somehow he knew, deeply as he knew the winds, that simply giving away the Shards would have terrible, terrible consequences.Hand trembling, he grasped the hilt. As soon as he touched it, he heard a sound like a strong wind over dried branches, high and faint, or perhaps distant screams. Was this supposed to happen? No one had ever mentioned the Blades making sounds when you held them.Kaladin's men whooped and cheered for him. The cry spread to soldiers on the ridge beyond, dozens, then hundreds of them, cheering for one of their own. Kaladin had achieved their highest aspiration and they gloried in it vicariously. He almost raised the Blade into the air, but stopped. He was still too disgusted with it. For Kaladin, it wasn't a thing of triumph, but ugly necessity.Kaladin had a Shardblade. And he hated it.--An AU: What if Kaladin had taken the Blade after killing the Shardbearer?
Comments: 57
Kudos: 71





	1. Take The Blade

**Author's Note:**

> This begins right after Kaladin kills the Shardbearer. This will, of course, have many points of canon divergence, but this one is worth noting separately: more people saw the kill, so Amaram couldn't plausibly claim he was the one who did it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first three chapters are choppy since I only posted them to see if people were interested in the concept; it gets more like real story prose after that.

Kaladin stepped forward, dazed, raising his hand toward the hilt of the Blade. He hesitated just an inch away from it.

The Way of Kings, p675

Kaladin saw death when he looked at that Blade, but could he turn it down? Didn't he have an obligation to take it because of all it would allow him to do? He could challenge Roshone. That was petty, though; that wasn't a good reason. There were good reasons, good goals: protect his men, fight on the Shattered Plains, take care of his family. However much he didn't like that Blade, if he had it, at least he could make sure it was used as responsibly as possible. He could keep this Blade from killing carelessly.

It was more than that, though. Somehow he knew, deeply as he knew the winds, that simply giving away the Shards would have terrible, terrible consequences.

Hand trembling, he grasped the hilt. As soon as he touched it, he heard a sound like a strong wind over dried branches, high and faint, or perhaps distant screams. Was this supposed to happen? No one had ever mentioned the Blades making sounds when you held them.

Kaladin's men whooped and cheered for him. The cry spread to soldiers on the ridge beyond, dozens, then hundreds of them, cheering for one of their own. Kaladin had achieved their highest aspiration and they gloried in it vicariously. He almost raised the Blade into the air, but stopped. He was still too disgusted with it. For Kaladin, it wasn't a thing of triumph, but ugly necessity.

Kaladin had a Shardblade. And he hated it.

***

Kaladin sat in his fancy new tent oiling his leather armor for the second time that week.

The tent flap opened and a familiar head peeked in. "Can I take a closer look at it, Brightlord sir?" Coreb's eye immediately fixed on the Blade.

"Sure." Kaladin looked down at the Blade where it sat on the floor. He considered kicking it, but didn't want to risk it accidentally cutting something.

Coreb looked at Kaladin and down to what he was working on. "You could have someone else do that for you now, you know, Brightlord."

"Don't call me that."

"But you are. Whether or not your eyes change." Coreb spoke earnestly. He meant well.

"I know. But just call me 'sir' anyway."

Kaladin's eyes were lighter. He didn't like that either. Medium brown, not dark anymore, but not quite light. They looked wrong in the mirror.

He'd taken to leaving the Blade on the ground by his feet when he could, near enough the bonding process should work, but not actually touching the thing. That way he wouldn't have to listen to that unsettling sound the storming thing made. It wasn't even just the sound. Something about the Blade just felt terribly wrong, a bending of the world in the wrong direction.

Apparently there was something you could put on the edge so it wouldn't cut, but this was the only Blade anyone knew of within weeks' travel, so he was left with just carrying it around and being very careful with it unless he could put it down. He was excused from combat while he bonded it, so mostly he stayed in so he could leave it sitting rather than hold it. Everyone else seemed to want him to parade the thing around, and they were surprised that he didn't.

It had been days. He still hated it. He couldn't wait to have it bonded so he could make it disappear. How infrequently could he get away with summoning it?

Coreb knelt down by the Blade, entranced.

"You could pick it up if you like."

Coreb's eyes flicked up to him. "Really, sir?"

"Yes, go ahead. I won't tell. Just be careful with it."

Coreb licked his lips and reached for the handle with both hands. Reverently and with great concentration, he lifted it. "I thought it would be lighter."

Kaladin smiled. "So did I. I guess it's light compared to a longsword."

"Yeah, you're allowed to carry a sword now. Do you have one yet?"

Kaladin pulled his new sword from its sheath. He'd already sharpened it so thoroughly he could have shaved with it.

"Do you want to try holding this too? I know it's much less exciting, but you're welcome to."

"I don't really want to put this down yet, if you don't mind, sir."

Kaladin smiled."Say, Coreb, do you hear anything when you hold it?"

Coreb tilted his head. "Hear anything? Like what?"

"Just...sounds. Maybe high pitched."

Coreb shook his head. "Nothing like that. You do?"

"Ah, just faintly. It's nothing important."

Was he going mad? Did this have something to do with bonding it? He wanted to meet other Shardbearers, if only so he could ask them if they heard the sounds too.

***

Less than a day after Kaladin got his Blade, Amaram summoned Kaladin to his command center.

"Ah, Brightlord Kaladin, excellent to see you, lad." Amaram had been greeting him with what seemed like excessive friendliness and enthusiasm. Kaladin was already growing suspicious of anyone who treated him this way.

"Brightlord," Kaladin said, nodding. He was trying to remain formal since he didn't have any better idea how to respond. _I sometimes wish I'd left you to die_ , Kaladin thought.

Besides Kaladin's mixed feelings, the two of them were in a curious situation where Amaram technically still outranked him (Amaram was third dahn to his Shardbearer's automatic fourth) and was still his superior officer, but Shardbearers received an extra level of deference.

Amaram continued smiling. "Highprince Sadeas himself has requested you join the fight at the Shattered Plains."

Kaladin nodded. "Yes, sir." He'd been expecting to go to the Plains. In theory it was part of the reason he'd taken the Blade, though he found that now, when it actually came up, he lacked enthusiasm. It was probably the gray weather, but knowing that didn't make him feel any better. Hopefully he'd feel better about it by the time he actually got to the Plains.

"I will travel with you. I've been meaning to go to the Plains for some time, and I think this is a fine opportunity."

"Of course, sir." Kaladin groaned inwardly and tried to keep his expression neutral. He hated this game, but he'd decided to play it, so play it he would.

***

Kaladin suddenly had _lands_. What was he supposed to do with those? Storms, he had no idea how to be a Brightlord. He got some advice from Amaram. Kaladin balked at the cost of contacting the citylords by spanreed, then learned how much income he was going to get from the lands. The cost of spanreed communication became inconsequential.

He had a stipend sent to his parents. He didn't explain where it came from.

He bought a very comfortable pair of boots.

He wasn't sure what else to do with all the income from his lands, so he tried to make sure his men were well taken care of, especially the families of those who had been killed.

He became immediately disgusted with all the people now trying to win his favor. And there were a lot of them.

***

Kaladin spent a couple of weeks in Northern Alethkar waiting for some things to get wrapped up before they set out for the Shattered Plains. In just that time, all the local border disputes fell in Amaram's favor. Kaladin was desperately glad he wasn't asked to use his Shards against anyone here in these fights that seemed so meaningless and petty. If Amaram was using the threat of a Shardbearer to get the others to surrender, so be it; it meant fewer darkeyes got killed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going with a mechanic where Kaladin can't hear the scream as loudly because his bond with Syl isn't as strong. The stronger the bond, the louder the scream.
> 
> Also, I rolled the first three small chapters into one; originally the first chapter was just the first scene.


	2. That They Might Show You Proper Respect

Traveling across most of Alethkar and then a corner of the Frostlands might have been interesting, but between being pressured into riding a storming horse and their never stopping to see any cities, Kaladin wearied of it quickly. More an issue than the itinerary, though, was how disconnected and isolated he felt. His new status set him apart from everyone, even his own men--the few who had survived. Despite all the downsides, Kaladin had enjoyed the place he'd created for himself in the army, with men he trusted and a useful, if distorted, reputation. Now it felt like all that had been torn away from him along with those of his men who'd been killed by the Shardbearer. The journey wore on so long that by the time they finally crested a hill and Kaladin caught sight of the Shattered Plains, he was shocked.

Storms, that was a landscape like no other. What could possibly have done something like this? Did it have a pattern? He'd have to ask to see larger maps when they got into the camps. He wanted a top-down view of this place. Hopefully they had good enough maps to approximate that.

They arrived at the warcamps the next morning. Kaladin let himself get swept up in the wonder of such an expanse of military forces as well as the bizarre landscape. They passed several camps before reaching Sadeas' crater. Each one had a different feel and different layout, with varying degrees of chaos. Kaladin expected Sadeas' camp to be a larger version of the best parts of Amaram's army--the parts that got sent to the Shattered Plains--so he was distressed to see soldiers loping about in packs wearing wrinkled, unbuttoned uniforms. Crem hadn't been scraped away from half the buildings and streets, and trash blew about.

Kaladin held his tongue as he followed Amaram through the camp. Hav went ahead of them, inquiring for directions and leading them to Highprince Sadeas' command tent, announcing them when they reached the Highprince.

"Highmarshal Amaram and the new Shardbearer, Kaladin," Hav said with a bow.

The man who must have been Highprince Sadeas rose from his throne-like chair. He didn't look like a fighter, but then, he probably occupied himself mostly with strategy these days. Still, word was, Sadeas wore his Shardplate into battle. In Plate, a man could probably get by without training much for strength, but still, it seemed wrong to fall back on the strength of the Plate.

"Meridas, so good to see you again." The highprince did not seem all that pleased. His tone was cool and flat, and his eyes went almost immediately to Kaladin.

"Likewise, highprince. I am honored to be in your presence again." Amaram bowed, so Kaladin did likewise. He caught the highprince throwing Amaram a look that could have been disgust.

Highprince Sadeas stalked slowly toward Kaladin. "Just Kaladin, is it? Haven't you picked a family name? Joined a banner? Such are your rights, as a Shardbearer." His voice was oily, a slow, dignified, condescending drawl.

Before Kaladin could reply, Amaram said, "I told him he could wait until reaching the Plains to choose a name and house, highprince. His men call him Stormblessed."

Sadeas raised an eyebrow, his eyes still fixed on Kaladin. "Do they? A fine sobriquet for a man who bested a Shardbearer with only a spear."

"It started long before that, highprince," Amaram said. "He has quite the glowing record as a fighter and a leader. He inspires loyalty and discipline in his men." Was Amaram going to let Kaladin speak for himself at all?

"Kaladin, the one they call Stormblessed, would you summon your Blade so that I might look at it?"

Speaking for the first time since arriving, Kaladin said, "Of course, highprince."

Kaladin stretched his hand to the side, waited the ten heartbeats, and braced himself for the noise. It was as bad as ever, and Kaladin wasn't sure he kept himself from flinching.

He needn't have worried about Sadeas seeing his discomfort; the highprince had eyes only for the Blade. Amaram had said Sadeas wanted one, but seeing the lust on his face, Kaladin gained a new understanding. Amaram wanted a Blade too, of course, but in Highprince Sadeas, it was a blatant, burning need, like it was physically painful for him not to have one.

It terrified Kaladin.

Not, of course, because he was afraid of losing the Blade--the longer he had it, the more he was sure he didn't want it--but because of what Sadeas might do to him--or his men--to get it.

If he were any other lighteyes, Kaladin might have started scheming about how he might use Sadeas' desire for the Blade to his own advantage. Much as Kaladin didn't want the Blade, he also couldn't think of anything he wanted besides to keep his men safe and to keep darkeyes from getting killed. Giving the Blade to Sadeas wouldn't help with that, but then, neither would Kaladin getting killed by Sadeas. Besides, Kaladin still had a strong gut feeling that something very bad would happen if he gave away the Blade.

"Let us introduce you to the troops. They should know their new Shardbearer, so they might show you proper respect." Sadeas almost spat the last word. He was angry Kaladin had a Blade and he didn't, and storms take Kaladin if he didn't think Sadeas was going to try to get it.

A highprince was scheming against Kaladin.

Great.

Was there a way Kaladin could get rid of his Blade that didn't seem too suspicious or get him in trouble? Maybe he could come up with something he had the appearance of wanting that he could trade the Blade for, something that didn't feel like such a terrible burden--or make him feel he was going mad.


	3. Better First Impression

Kaladin walked through yet another disappointingly seedy section of Sadeas' camp when a low-ranking officer came out of a door down the street, shoving a half-naked woman in front of him, knocking her to the ground. The officer was carrying his jacket rather than wearing it. A prostitute and her client, then. The man kicked the prostitute.

Kaladin growled and strode toward them, but a small group of men in Kholin blue uniforms was already closer. One of them had gold knots, second or third dahn. More of Sadeas' soldiers came to back up the client, significantly outnumbering the Kholin men. The Kholin officer was civil and tried to resolve the dispute, but the officer in green spat on him.

_I'm in the wrong camp._

Kaladin reached the group just as the Kholin officer summoned a Shardblade.

The officer in green paled and stumbled away, then caught sight of Kaladin. "Brightlord Kaladin! I'm so glad you're here. Please, can you teach this intruder his place?"

Kaladin held his hand out, summoning his Blade. The air was tense. Ten heartbeats came quickly but felt slow. Finally the Blade dropped into his hand. He turned on the officer in green. "What makes you think I'm going to take your side? Is it going to take two Shardblades to convince you that you shouldn't beat women?"

All the other men in green scattered, the officer retreating into the building looking ill.

Kaladin turned toward the men in blue. The highlord dismissed his Blade, so Kaladin followed suit.

"Did I hear that right? Kaladin Stormblessed, the infamous darkeyed spearman who killed a Shardbearer?"

Word about him certainly had spread quickly. Kaladin nodded. The Kholin Shardbearer had blond hair speckled with black. Kaladin probably should know who this was. No helping that now. "You have me at a disadvantage."

The man extended his hand. "Adolin Kholin."

Kaladin took his hand. This was the first other man he'd met with a Blade. Should he ask about the sound?

Before Kaladin got a chance to speak, Adolin asked, "You don't happen to know Reral Makoram, do you?"

Kaladin shook his head. "I only got to the warcamps last night. That man--" Kaladin gestured with his head toward the brothel "--may have recognized me but I don't know who he was."

"Ah well. Too famous for your own good. I'm afraid I have to run, though I would like to hear the story of how you won your Shards first hand, if you're not too sick of telling it. See you at a feast some time soon?"

"Feast?"

Adolin was already starting to walk away. "The king throws a feast every night. I'm sure you're invited."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After writing this chapter (and part of a subsequent one in which Kaladin and Adolin talk more), this fic started to feel like it would very naturally go toward Kadolin. No promises yet, and even if it does, it wouldn't be for a while.


	4. Plateau Run

Horns echoed across the plains, and people sprang into motion all around Kaladin. He didn't know what the horns meant, but apparently everyone else did.

This must be a plateau run.

It was still his first day in camp and he hadn't been assigned any reports yet, so his only official responsibility was to put on his Plate and get his horse.

This brought forward a question Kaladin had been wondering about since seeing the Plains: how did they cross the chasms? Did they have bridges all the way out, miles and miles in every direction into that wasteland?

The answer soon came into view: slaves carrying bridges. They didn't even all have shoes, and that bridge looked heavy. Besides which, they'd have to run from the back of the army to the front on each plateau if they weren't to slow the march. Storms, that seemed like a terrible job.

Kaladin had gotten somewhat accustomed to horseback riding on the journey from Alethkar, but he still didn't _like_ the animals, and he certainly didn't trust them.

The army crossed fixed bridges for miles. Kaladin stayed relatively near Amaram, but mostly he responded to the stream of common soldiers who came to talk to him. He tired of it almost as soon as it began, but this was part of his role: be an inspiration to darkeyes everywhere that they, too, might win Shards and rise up. Kaladin somehow felt he was lying to them, even though he'd done it himself not long ago. It wasn't that he doubted his own experience or thought it was so improbably someone else should do it. It was like the whole situation was a farce, a sweet fruit dangled out in front of him that turned sour when he bit into it.

At the first chasm without a permanent bridge, the poor bridge slaves shoved their bridges across the gaps and then collapsed to the ground. On the next plateau, they ran past next to the army, driven in a way no one would even do with an animal.

Upon crossing, Kaladin hung back, waiting for the army to cross. He dismounted, handed the reins to Coreb, who was all too happy to ride, and went to the nearest bridge. The bridge slaves looked on in disbelief as Kaladin started to pick up the bridge.

Riding across the adjacent bridge, Sadeas called out, "Young Kaladin, what on Roshar are you doing?"

Kaladin halted and turned to Sadeas. "Your bridgemen look exhausted. It shouldn't be hard for me to carry one of these in Plate, or at least take most of the weight."

Sadeas sighed heavily. "That won't do. Get back on your mount, boy. Shardbearers need to look noble and inspiring."

Kaladin stood up straight, fingers still holding the edge of the bridge. Storms this thing was heavy. "What's more inspiring than your leaders working hard too, ready to do whatever needs to be done?"

"You sound like Dalinar." Sadeas gave him a disgusted look."The unpainted Plate should have made me suspicious."

"Unpainted Plate?" It was a minor point, but such an odd one Kaladin couldn't help asking.

"The only other man I know who wears his Plate unornamented is Dalinar." Sadeas shook his head. "Youhaven't been listening to readings of The Way Of Kings, have you?"

Kaladin shook his head. He'd heard of the book, but didn't know anything about it beyond that it was old.

Taking one last look at the bridge, Kaladin gritted his teeth and went back to his horse.

Dismounting, Coreb said, "It was worth a try, sir." He leaned in closer. "And even if the highprince doesn't approve, I think that was storming fine of you."

Kaladin grimaced. "It didn't actually make any difference to the bridgemen."

***

So, these were the Parshendi.

Their singing sent chills down his spine. He was supposed to kill them. For an enormous gemheart.

Storms, this should be easier than going against darkeyed soldiers had been. Before, he'd always had men to protect, whether they were his squadmates or they reported to him. Now, not only was he the monster in impervious armor, he just had the five survivors from his old squad. He could protect them, but it was clear he had to think bigger. He didn't have a squad. He had this whole army. They were all his to protect.

Amaram called for Kaladin and waved him toward the side, where some officers were giving orders and deciding on tactics. As the army set up, one of the other generals gave an overview to Kaladin and Amaram of the strategies the Alethi army had found effective. Kaladin hung on every word. If he was going to command a battalion soon, he would need to know all this as well as he'd known his squad formations. From now on, he was going to learn everything he could about this war.

Soon the army was in place, and the officers called out for the onslaught to begin. The first wave wasn't shield bearers or archers, but the bridges. Kaladin looked on in horror as the poor unarmored men--who'd already run all this way carrying heavy bridges--ran unshielded into the Parshendi archers.

He galloped to Sadeas, not far away, near the back of the procession. "Brightlord, aren't the bridgemen supposed to have some kind of defense?"

Sadeas gave him a withering look. "No, quite the opposite. They're supposed to draw fire. Better some of them get hit than the Parshendi archers take out trained soldiers."

"What if I went out to draw fire instead? Surely a Shardbearer would draw their attention."

"I want to risk a Shardbearer even less than I wish to lose my regular soldiers. You sound even more like Dalinar." Sadeas' horse snorted, taking a few steps backward before stilling. "Stay out of range until the cavalry has established a foothold on the enemy plateau, then go and join the battle. And don't go risking your Shards."

Kaladin ground his teeth, but what could he do? It was one thing to take initiative without being told, but he wasn't going to go against the direct order of a highprince.

That was the second time Sadeas had mentioned Dalinar. It was Dalinar's son Adolin whom Kaladin had met earlier that afternoon, defending the prostitute. Yes, he would like to meet the Blackthorn, for more than the legend.

Resigning himself for now, Kaladin watched the approach closely, first the bridges, then the cavalry. Finally it was time for him to go in. He decided he would simply go wherever the fighting looked worst and defend the soldiers there.

A group of smaller, younger looking spearmen was trying to hold back a thick group of Parshendi. Summoning his Shardblade, Kaladin braced himself against the screaming and ran into the fray. Sweeping the long Blade, he burned out the eyes of half a dozen Parshendi at once.

Kaladin felt sick. Now _he_ was the one inflicting this disturbing death upon others.

He looked at the soldiers near him. They were indeed young, even more so than Kaladin had initially guessed. Storms, one of them even kind of looked like Tien. And the five men from Kaladin's squad followed him, backing him up. They were officially his honorguard, but they were also the closest he had to friends out here.

Growling, Kaladin tore through the Parshendi like a storm-tossed boulder through brambles. The Blade felt awkward and he wished for a spear instead, but he adapted--thankfully the Blade worked well even without a lot of technique. For a time, he lost himself in the battle, focused only on defending the men around him. Up and down the lines he moved, leaving a trail of Parshendi corpses. Besides those who had come with him, Kaladin did not know the men he fought for, but they were darkeyed soldiers any others, out here because the lighteyes decided to go to war.

As the army planned its charge, Kaladin had noted the location of the chrysalis, but hadn't kept track of it as they advanced, caught up in the fight in his immediate surroundings. Now, though, the Parshendi around him were dead, and he got a clear view of the giant dark lump. If he got to that and could get the gemheart out, this battle could stop.

Heedless of backup, Kaladin charged forward. He was vaguely aware of his honorguard following him, trailed by the nearby infantry. It should have been a stupid move, but the Plate let him get away with it. He ran almost unhindered to the chrysalis, killing the Parshendi who hammered away at it, then slicing into it himself where the Parshendi had failed to crack through.

He had no idea what he was supposed to do once he got to this point.

These things were basically enormous, hostile gumfrems, right? Hearthstone hadn't raised many of those, but he'd once seen one slaughtered for its gemheart.

With a few interruptions to fight off Parshendi that got through the Alethi lines, Kaladin cut deeper into the beast, finally seeing a glow and reaching his arm into the thick purple ichor. With the a yank to snap some connective tissue, Kaladin pulled free a gemheart large as his head and too bright to look at. Horns sounded, and as last time, though Kaladin didn't know the meaning, he could guess: the Parshendi were retreating.

Kaladin handed the gemheart off to a nearby spearman, who looked dumbfounded at first, but his expression rapidly grew intent, and he seized the gem with both hands. Wasting no time, he sent the men around him back toward the Alethi staging plateau, guarding the rear as they withdrew. Kaladin saw several wounded, some of whom he called for other soldiers to pick up, some he picked up himself before handing off to others to bear. They didn't have litters, but better to get the wounded back quickly than wait.

The Parshendi had almost all reached the far plateau and showed no signs of turning to harry, and Kaladin relaxed fractionally. Kaladin made sure the wounded were seen to and went back several times to fetch more. It was trivial to carry a man while wearing Plate, though some would need stretchers to be transported without too much risk or pain. Rather than waiting, he barked out orders to whatever soldiers were nearby, and they snapped into action, following him out with stretchers for multiple trips back to the field.

"I hate that thing, you know."

Kaladin started at the feminine voice, looking around him. Just beside him was that windspren he'd seen following him a few times while traveling through Alethkar. She'd never talked before.

The men with the stretchers were far enough behind him, so Kaladin said quietly, "What thing is it you hate, spirit?"

"That _thing_ you have. You don't have it right now, but you had it all through the battle."

That was more than Kaladin had ever heard a windspren say. They weren't even supposed to be capable of more than mimicking human speech.

"Do you mean my Shardblade?"

She hissed. "Yes. It's terrible. Get rid of it."

"I'd kind of like to. Why do you hate it?"

"It's evil."

"I'm inclined to agree."

"You used it for the right reasons, but you still need to get rid of it."

Kaladin eyed the small blue woman standing before him. Having a conversation like this with a spren was surreal, but Kaladin felt even more strongly than before that what she was saying was right. There was something wrong with the Blade. He could swear the screaming got louder over the course of the battle. Maybe that was just something that happened as you used the Blade? Storms, he hoped not.

"I can't get rid of it right now, but I'm working on it." And he found, somewhat to his surprise, that he had decided to find a way to get rid of the Blade.

The windspren pouted. "Soon. Get rid of it soon," she said, flitting away.

As Kaladin came back into the staging area, he saw a man he probably should have kept closer track of, but who was now walking toward him. With an almost apologetic bow, the spearman with the gemheart brought the thing, now wrapped in a cloth, back to Kaladin. "It was an honor to fight beside you, brightlord."

Kaladin nodded back at the man. "The same to you."

A huge grin of irregular teeth spread across the spearman's face. "Thank you, brightlord!"

Despite the crowding, Kaladin had no trouble locating Sadeas, still astride his mount in his pristine red Shardplate. Had the highprince even gone into battle?

Kaladin held the gemheart out to Sadeas, whose expression seemed an odd mix of satisfaction and anger.

"It seems you've already earned your keep. Well done, young Shardbearer." Sadeas did at least sound pleased, though there was an edge of tension in his voice.

Not wanting to spend more time around the highprince than necessary, Kaladin departed. Wounded bridgemen still lay scattered near the chasm. The surgeons didn't seem to be tending them at all. They weren't even being picked up, and they must have been out here since the battle started. Why hadn't the surgeons started tending them at the start of the battle, before there were other injuries to deal with?

Sighing, Kaladin went back to the surgeon's area and appropriated the same men and stretchers. One of the lieutenants held up a hand. "No need, son. We've got everyone off the field."

"What about the wounded bridgemen?" Kaladin asked. "Aren't you going to bring them back to camp?"

The officer shook his head. "If they can't carry a bridge, they get left behind."

"What? Why?"

"Orders of the highprince himself."

Gritting his teeth, Kaladin made his way back to Sadeas. "Highprince, one of your lieutenants said you don't bring back injured bridgemen. Surely that can't be correct."

Sadeas sniffed. "Oh, it's correct. If they can't carry a bridge, they're useless."

"You just leave them out here? Because they can't walk back?"

"Cheaper and easier just to buy replacements."

"Surely a little medical care is cheaper than buying another slave." Not to mention humane.

"You'd be surprised. And besides, the surgeons are busy with actual soldiers."

Kaladin gritted his teeth. "I'll take care of them."

"All the surgeons in the army are mine, and they are to prioritize injuries by rank. And they have orders not to bother with the bridgemen, not that they have time."

"No, I mean I'll tend them myself. I apprenticed as a surgeon."

Sadeas raised an eyebrow, then sighed and waved a hand, red Plate gleaming in the sun. "Fine. Just make sure it doesn't interfere with any of your real duties."

***

Teft knew what they did with bridgemen who couldn't carry. And, storm it, there was no way he was going to even walk with this arrow in his thigh. He'd known bridge crew was a death sentence, but now he was going to be left out here to die slowly of exposure. Better the arrow had taken him in the throat and been done with it.

A Shardbearer was walking right toward him. Teft looked behind him, but there was no one there and nothing interesting he could see. The Shardbearer removed his helm, revealing long curling hair plastered with sweat to a young face.

Then, he knelt in front of Teft.

"What's your name?" the young man asked gently.

It took him a moment to find his voice. "Teft, Brightlord, sir."

"Well, Teft, I'm Kaladin."

Teft's eyes went wide. "Kelek's breath. You're the spearman who killed a Shardbearer."

The man nodded. He pulled out a pouch, which turned out to contain medical supplies. Then the young Shardbearer released his gauntlets to the ground and began tending to Teft's leg.

Kaladin's hands worked quickly and with skill. Teft had no idea how to respond to a Shardbearer giving him medical attention, so he just stared mutely.

The young man grimaced. "Going to need to cauterize some of this." He looked around. "You, bridge sergeant, what's your name?"

The short, one-eyed man spun toward them, posture hostile, then stood at attention and saluted when he saw who was addressing him. "Ah, Gaz, Brightlord, sir."

"Sergeant Gaz, I need to borrow a couple of your bridgemen for a few minutes."

"They're a lazy lot, Brightlord. I doubt you'll find them of much use."

Kaladin glared at Gaz and the sergeant shrank back. "I don't think it counts as being lazy if you've just run this far carrying something that heavy," Kaladin said. "Find a couple who don't look quite as exhausted and send them over."

"Of course, Brightlord." Gaz scurried away to where the bridgemen lay down until they had to start running again.

A tall Horneater and a long-limbed bald man trudged over, and though they were reluctant at first, within minutes, Kaladin had them building a fire and getting water out of rockbuds. He cauterized Teft's leg wound, then started stitching, sending the other two bridgemen out looking for more of their own who were alive but couldn't walk. They came back with another with a leg wound, which Kaladin began working on as well.

"Your name?"

The injured bridgeman just blinked at him.

"Can you speak?"

"Uh, yes, Brightlord. My name's Hobber."

"Hobber, nice to meet you. I'm Kaladin."

"I know who you are, Brightlord."

The young Shardbearer sighed as if disappointed.

"If I might ask, Brightlord, why are you doing this? Nobody saves bridgemen."

Kaladin fixed each of them in turn with a hard stare. "I'm still darkeyed at heart, whatever the Blade might have done to me."

Kaladin had sent the other two out looking for more wounded, but Sadeas called for the army to head back toward camp, so the other bridgemen had to return to their regular duty. Kaladin loaded both Teft and the other man, Hobber, onto his horse, lifting each of them easily with his Plate.

Hobber held the reins carefully, as if not sure what to do with them. "But, Brightlord, how are you going to get back?"

Kaladin looked toward the horse with obvious distrust. "I'd rather walk."

**Author's Note:**

> Real talk: I'm a comment whore. Sometimes I have a story that's playing in my head and I just have to write it down, but when that's not the case, I tend to work on whatever people seem to be enjoying. So, if you're enjoying something I write, let me know :)


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